Intangible
by Catmoongirl
Summary: When it wasn't bad, it was fantastic. And Matt could last years of terrible, half-insane crap on a single dose of watching the beautiful blond sleep at night. A series of Matt/Mello one-shots inspired by music. M for language and some explicit sex.
1. Hell on Earth

A/N: It seems one shot's are my thing right now. lol. Rediscovering many of the older songs and some of the newer ones in my iTunes library has really given my brain a jump start, as well as going back to college. I've been so happy at having deep, intellectual discussions again. Why, just yesterday I got into a debate with my professor about whether or not it's right to use a dialectically correct term in a professional research essay.  
Long story...  
Anyways, Jacob has been giving me priceless encouragement for TTB and writing in general is just a lot easier for me. This little series is something of mine that is a bit like Keehl's Ninth, though I'm not taking it _as_ seriously. Keehl's Ninth is a lot like my first real long fanfic, this is more of a way to keep myself entertained and to allow myself to express the ideas that just don't fit into KN or TTB. I always get depressed when I lose my ideas (hence why I am still mourning over the loss of my old hard drive 3 years ago).  
Well, I guess I'll make these notes here instead of naming each chapter after the song I was inspired by. This chapter was inspired by the song Addicted (TVCF Extended Vocal) by Sweetbox from their Rare Tracks album.  
Everybody enjoy their weekend and this little one-shot!  
**Please read and review!**

Edit: Oh my god! I cannot believe I forgot to do this! How rude of me...  
I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who reviewed the new chapter of Beyond and my last one-shot "Never Mind." I really appreciate it. And thanks to everyone who's read or reviewed any of my other fanfics as well! Sorry for being so ungrateful! lol. Honestly, I love you all.

Disclaimer: Since I can barely afford my text books, I obviously do not own Death Note or Addicted. I bet Ohba and Obata can pay for their college text books...

* * *

Chapter One - Hell on Earth

It was dangerous down here. He knew that much.

It was hot. It was sticky. It was scary.

It was so simple and so fucking amazing.

Above him, the lights were still flashing and he could see the rich, enticing flash of leather and a glimpse of blond hair.

Mello had said he was completely clean when he was with the Mafia, no drugs, no alcohol, no sex.

Now he knew why.

Mello didn't need drugs, he was a fucking high all of his own. All he had to do was get a guy to piss his pants in fear with a gun shoved halfway down his throat and he was on top of the fucking world. Matt sometimes wondered what it would be like to look through those azure eyes, so sharp and seductive and mesmerizing with a beauty that was pure poison. Staring into those eyes was like driving past a ten car pile up while the flames still burn and the people are still screaming.

His stomach would churn, he wanted to cry, yell, maybe even stab himself in the throat, but he just _couldn't look away_. It was terrifying, like those last few moments of life when you realize you've done shit, and there isn't much you can do about it now because the dark is about to swallow you up with nothing but the unknown on the other side.

That's what it was like, looking into Mello's eyes when he was high on feeling like a total badass. A goddamn black hole, but instead of light, it sucked out your livelihood and replaced it with pure adrenaline.

Mello didn't need alcohol because...well, because he really couldn't handle it. He was already drunk off his ass and he had only had 3 chocolate martinis. The blond could deny it all he wanted, but Mello didn't dance when he was sober. And he was the one who had dragged Matt onto the dance floor, moving and swaying eagerly against the younger man's figure to the pounding rhythm of the music and the blood pumping through their heads.

All the lights reflecting off of his leather, his skin, his hair, giving him a glow that was nothing short of ethereal. He was inhuman, he was not of this world, he was a fallen angel. He was Lucifer himself. He was an unholy savior, clutching a crucifix and whispering a Hail Mary while he marched through the shadows and alleyways doing the Devil's work. All for justice, all for number one, all for...

It didn't matter what it was really for. All that mattered is that it was something that Mello would do.

Even on the days when he wasn't so pretty, those days when he constantly looked like he had a stick shoved up his ass, or the days when that bloodthirsty maniacal gleam never seemed to completely disappear from his eyes, he was still gorgeous.

Even with the scars, Mello could have made a living as a super model, a porn star, a celebrity of some sort.

Would he love Mello still if he suddenly decided to star in movies? If he ran off to Hollywood? If he wanted to strip for Calvin Klein, or Playgirl, or some depraved fetish website?

Probably. He had tried to stop loving Mello before.

It never worked. He was just..._Mello_.

When it wasn't bad, it was fucking fantastic. And Matt could last years of terrible, half-insane shit on a single dose of watching the beautiful blond sleep at night.

It was what gave him the energy to cajole Mello out of the house, persuaded him to stop being such a prude and drink, allowed him to thrust and rock against him in a purely seductive dance, and made his heart race when the blond threw himself at him, knocking him backwards with a horribly aimed kiss that ended up landing on his cheek instead of his lips.

And so, here he was, sprawled out on the edge of the dance floor, spilled beer and vodka and who knows what sticking to his hair and his shirt. And Mello had gotten up with an incoherent mumble and left him to dance with some other guy.

There they were, right in eyesight, this bronzed, dark-haired fucker with his arms around the limber blond, hands planted firmly on leather clad hips.

God, he was fucking gorgeous. So goddamn dangerous and deadly, and that made him all the more stunning.

The sway of his hips and the curve of his neck and the curl of his cocoa-flavored liquor laced lips wouldn't have been nearly as lovely without that air of perilous uncertainty that hung about him, without the sleaze that came with it, without the whore that was coming out now as he pressed himself ever closer to his new dance partner.

Even Matt, head still spinning in a euphoria of a pleasure overload, had to laugh. He watched as Mello leaned in to lay a hot kiss on the man's neck who had abruptly ceased dancing, his eyes widening in an unsettling mix of surprise and terror.

He was _way_ in over his head and he damn well knew it now.

Mello was the only person, to Matt's knowledge, who could make a grown man with the build of an ex-marine almost twice his size seize up in fear from a single kiss.

And then the lights were flashing again and Mello was moving on his own, pulling himself away from the man who had apparently decided that dancing with the blond wasn't a good idea. Matt could barely tell where Mello began and ended, his entire body curling and swaying like smoke.

The redhead didn't remember getting to his feet, if it had been the surge of need flying through his body and settling in his groin, or if someone had helped him up. By the time he remembered making any kind of conscious decision, he had his hands on Mello's hips again and was panting heavily against the older man's ear as that sexy, leather covered ass pushed back against his crotch. He could feel more than hear Mello's satisfied chuckle when the blond rolled his hips seductively, coercing a breathless groan from Matt's throat.

He wanted to kiss him, so desperately he wanted to savor those bittersweet lips, to make up for the epic fail from only a few minutes ago, to know that if he suddenly passed out from dehydration or hyperthermia, at least he could have a kiss and a lingering bite of left over martini on his tongue to remember this night by.

But Mello seemed to have other ideas, craning his head out of the reach of Matt's lips until he could grab a fistful of auburn hair in a gloved hand.

"The chocolate in my pocket is melting," he giggled distantly.

There was no chocolate in his pocket, nothing was melting except Matt's restraint. But it was hot, it was getting very hot and very, very cramped. Matt kept quiet, settling for a nod, or as much of one as he could manage with Mello yanking at his hair, sending pleasant chills of pain through his scalp.

Mello could dance with all the douchebags and bastards he wanted. Hell, he could bring them home and fuck them right on Matt's bed after Mello strung the redhead up by his wrists to the ceiling and forced him to watch until the sun rose.

And Matt would still love him in the morning because it would be normal, in a cruel and sadistic way.

He had no desire to tie Mello down, to cage him up, to keep him on a leash. Mello was like a giant wolf with rabies, more in danger of hurting himself than anyone else if penned up. He was an animal, through and through. He had to fly, he had to run free.

It would have been a travesty to tame his sex appeal with safety, to dull his beauty with domestication.

Like hot fudge cascading slowly over smooth ice cream, the blond turned sinuously in his arms until they were facing one another, Mello's eyes sharp with want, rimmed with a slight fogginess of partially dissipated inhibitions.

His hands were like talons, sharp fingernails threatening to tear through striped fabric as they took a hold of Matt's arms and began dragging him away from the crowd and out the door. The redhead didn't protest, as long as Mello wasn't gentle. He had never been gentle before.

He didn't ever want this to change, this indistinct line between love and lust and exploitation. If it ever did, the chase would be over, the search for an answer at it's end, and Mello would no longer be Mello.

It made Matt grin when he found himself shoved roughly against the wall of the club, sliding to the ground with a pained groan.

They were covered in sweat and the scent of pure delirium.

Matt closed his eyes, enjoying the fall breeze rustling his hair, the smell of auto exhaust and wet, dead leaves and the inevitability of the approaching winter filling his nose.

It was all usual, all typical, all so perfect and comforting.

The breeze suddenly disappeared and Matt's eyes opened a crack to find those green eyes staring back, inches from his face, blond hair tickling his cheeks. One of Mello's legs pressed against his own as he crawled a little closer on his hands and knees, his body wobbling tiredly.

"Only you, Matt," he murmured. "They all want to catch me. Not you."

"Not me," Matt repeated in a whisper just before Mello leaned forward to catch him in a slow, passionate kiss, cigarettes and chocolate mixing like poison on their tongues.

Mello pressed ever closer until his knees were trapping Matt's hips and their chests were pressed together and no one stopped them, because the street was empty, just like their heads and their hearts and their futures. Matt was gasping for breath and Mello just kept stealing it away, his hands coming up to cradle the gamer's head between his palms.

It was dangerous down here, on the floor, on the ground, underneath Mello's body. Matt imagined it would probably be all the same in Hell.

It was too hot, way too fucking hot. Mello was suddenly too heavy, too much weight at once, and Matt couldn't take it.

"Get off!" He gasped frantically, roughly shoving the blond away even though he hadn't meant to. "You're drunk."

And Mello simply collapsed against the wall beside him, staring up at the stars while Matt focused on the ground, one searching for hope, the other searching for a reason.

"Matt," Mello groaned, a gloved hand groping along the ground for something to hold. "You know I lo-" Then, he abruptly cut off and was scrambling to his feet to make it over to the alley to puke and retch and cough.

And in his head, Matt was on the verge of tears with a heart so filled with gratitude and affection it was ready to burst, saying 'I know, I love you too.'

In the realm of reality, however, he was lighting up a cigarette and smirking up at the stars with heavy-lidded, lazy eyes.

Nothing was going to change. He wouldn't let it.

So, with the thin line of smoke drifting up to the heavens, he replied,

"Don't be stupid, you're just drunk."


	2. Bruises

A/N: Hello all! I hope you've had a good week. I've had a lot of late nights and early mornings, so I hope this A/N isn't too incoherent.  
I'm...not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter. It took me quite a few edits until I got it going in a direction I liked. If it sucks, please tell me. Constructive criticism is fantastic.  
So, I suppose I'll start by saying my thank you's for the people who reviewed: twentyfiveraven, FanaticFics, Living in a fantasy, phollie., Kyon Haruko, thinlimitation, Demon Hiei's Girl, NothingFromNowhereImNoOneAtAll, and of course, mrsjeevas (whom I still thank wholeheartedly for her review, despite the fact that I have yet to reply to it. lol) I hope you can all forgive my long breaks. Believe me, I'd much rather be writing than learning precalc all over again. Still, I gotta make the most out of my scholarship. lol.  
This chapter was inspired by the song Girls Like Status by The Hold Steady from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Movie soundtrack.  
As a special treat for you all, the songs for each chapter are now available for download on my livejournal. To get the songs, simply go to my profile, click on the "Homepage" link, and they'll be in the entries tagged "Intangible".  
By the way, TTB is making lots of progress now. No promises...but chapter 3 _should_ be finished soon.  
Everyone have a good week and enjoy!  
**Read and review!** Pretty please?

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. It belongs to Ohba and Obata.

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Chapter 2 - Bruises

The sights and sounds of the park at 11 at night only brought back unpleasant memories for Mello, though he knew Matt, draped over the park bench and only metaphorical inches from slumber, saw it differently. The sound of pills rattling in bottles and the chirp of crickets and the way the dim street lamp overhead flickered with the swaying of branches beneath it were the recollections of "better" times, of days when the redhead was usually drugged up and absolutely wasted, running around with different people every night, waking up with a stranger in his bed.

Mello knew Matt was a whore. He kept saying he didn't care who he fucked, but by the time the scars around Matt's wrists from the handcuffs were so deep that they would never disappear, Matt stopped seeing them, stayed at home, made brownies when he was bored and watched as Mello licked the batter out of the bowl.

The blond planted himself on the ground, fingers tracing through the dirt, searching for the novelty, wishing he understood what it was like to be a child.

It just frustrated him.

This was just plain stupid.

Kids were stupid.

And Matt watched wordlessly, head turned to the side as he lay on his stomach, feeling cool dew gathered on the metal bars seep into his jeans and his hair. Mello sat on the edge of his vision, head bowed and shoulders hunched, waiting for something to be said.

"I told you I wasn't going anymore," he mumbled, voice slurring slightly as his mouth was compressed awkwardly against the bench. "I don't want to go to those damn parties. I'm fine with you."

Mello paused, remembering the bruises on Matt's arms and back and ankles. They weren't _all_ from parties, but most of them were. The ones that Mello didn't leave himself turned up on returning from a concert or a rave or some violent fuck-fest that both of them preferred not talking about.

"You said you wanted to disappear," the blond said, his voice quiet, yet firm. It implied tenderness on the surface, but there was a chilling warning beneath it. "Is that why you did it?"

Matt frowned irritably, reaching out a hand lazily as if he could scoop the leather clad figure in his palm and tuck him away into his pocket, before his arm flopped down uselessly. "Sometimes it's nice, to just pretend that you don't exist, that the world doesn't exist." He caught a flash of green from the shade of Mello's face as the branches creaked back, exposing them both to the dirty orange lamplight for a few seconds. "Being there, instead of really _being there_...that's what I wanted. Like...if I were outside of my own body."

"For someone who's supposed to be gifted," the older man cut in. "You're not being very eloquent."

At heart, he was still a child. The genius had been lost amidst the euphoria and confusion of years of reckless fun and veiled suicidal tendencies.

Mello only allowed him a few more minutes before he yanked the redhead to his feet and they walked back to the car in silence.

The red Mustang sat alone in the small lot across the street, a prime target for theft. Even if it was stolen, they would get a new one. Mello was always bringing back fancy cars and wads of cash and new games.

Matt never thought to ask why, why he got a red Mustang, why he spent his money on gifts for the gamer, why he did anything at all.

"Mello, you don't-"

The blond shoved him roughly with a ferocious snarl and he fell heavily onto the hood of the car.

Mello was brimming with loathing, contempt, anger. And it was all hot as hell. He was practically on top of the redhead now, leather against stripes, the zipper of his vest catching on the fabric and digging into the redhead's skin, bodies arched awkwardly over the front of the Mustang.

Matt wobbled uncertainly as a leather-clad knee forced it's way between his legs, upsetting his balance. His chocolate-brown eyes were wide in surprise and fear behind the goggles. A gloved finger traced lightly down the side of his face and back up, pausing at his temple.

Those goggles. Those _damn goggles_.

They were for kids, they were irritating, they were _mocking_ him. It was a symbol of those times when Matt was astray in a world that didn't give a damn about him, a time when, most days, he had to hide the fact that he was too stoned to even function.

"Ah, Mello! Stop it!" he protested as the blond reached up and yanked the goggles from his eyes. He tried to swat the offending hands away and found his wrist pinned above his head. He let out a slight whine as the lenses passed over his head and were tossed out into the darkness. He heard them clatter against the pavement in the shadows.

"You don't need those anymore," Mello murmured. He leaned down to try and kiss the redhead, but Matt turned his head away with a sniffle, trying to hide the tears forcing it's way to the surface.

He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to miss something that couldn't miss him back.

But he didn't want to do without them. He felt naked, too vulnerable, too bare.

When had they become a part of him? When had he grown too attached to let go?

He was still fighting back the flood when they got home and Mello shoved him through the front door. He tripped over his own feet and slid painfully across the carpet.

The door slammed shut, accompanied by a tired groan from Matt, quavering as he attempted to choke back a sob. Mello watched at the gamer clawed at his own neck as if there were some sort of noose around it, searching vainly for his security blanket; patches of red, raw skin were appearing on his palms from the rug burn.

"Let me guess what you want for Christmas," the blond mocked, stepping forward to tower over his partner. "Damn junkie..."

Matt took a shuddering breath as he curled into the fetal position, face pressing into the carpet as he rasped weakly. "Arrogant fucker."

He was shaking, almost crying. He felt absolutely humiliated.

How stupid.

The sound of beads clattering against linoleum was enough to make the redhead glance up. Mello still stood above him, arms spread wide, a strange and almost frightening look in his eyes.

His rosary was gone. It lay a few feet away on the kitchen floor.

"Is this better now?" he asked, voice oddly tender.

Matt gave no answer and Mello could see that he was shaking. It was so slight and near imperceptible, but it was there nonetheless.

The fear, the insecurity, the lack of a purpose, the absence of an anchor.

"What the fuck did I do?" the redhead murmured softly as the older man knelt beside him, pulling his arms away from his face and holding them there.

He didn't like the look in Mello's eyes. It was as if he were fighting some demon inside of him, as if he were struggling to keep himself present, to prevent it from taking over.

It always seemed to happen this way. This moment of indecision and confusion, when Matt wasn't sure what was love and what was a power trip.

"I'm going to the top," the blond whispered, the demons quelled, at least for the moment, eyes deep and vivid and serious. He leaned down and finally acquired the kiss he had attempted at earlier. "Are you going with me?"

He only waited a moment for an answer, and even when he didn't get one, he didn't hesitate. He slowly crawled atop of Matt's figure and pulled him into a deep kiss, slow and loving, but the trace of hunger still loomed, the demons still hovering.

Matt had lost count of how many times this happened. How many times it seemed to transition so flawlessly from day to night, from yelling to whispers, from anger and frustration to pleasure and security.

They'd done this everywhere: the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the living room. No floor in the house ever seemed to be safe. They always ended up rolling around on the floor, struggling and fighting for something that neither could name.

Clothes were lost and Matt felt a burning in his hips and shoulder blades as his body edged across the carpet in time with Mello's movements. The air grew hot and Matt found he could do nothing but breathe and plead and ponder.

Somewhere, far away, in another world, another universe, another time, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, cigarette between his lips, watching the rosary swinging to and fro on the knob of the bathroom door.

_Are you going with me?_

Could he take this? Could he take this inexplicable punishment that seemed to run deeper than reason? Would it be enough?

Would it be too much?

Mello's lips were on his neck and he was murmuring something.

"We can make it through this, Matty."

Matt hated the sound of Mello's tone. It sounded too much like the last time he'd said that.

The last time they were going to make it through, Mello almost ended up dead.

A groan, a whimper, and the redhead was arching against his lover, urging for a faster pace, for Mello to fill him fully, to grip his hips harder, to hurt him and let him lift away.

Pleading to exist, for Mello to exist.

The rest of the world could go to Hell.

This..._this_ was what his life should have felt like. Flesh and blood and warmth beneath his palms, shivers of white heat coursing through his nerves, the smell of sweat and chocolate and ash, the absence of God between them, seeing the world without the orange wash.

It was _painful_, as if each time their sweat soaked skin came together, it was like rubbing against an open wound.

Matt was still a masochist at heart, though, and the sensation kept propelling them both forward, harder and faster until he came with a shudder and a low moan. Mello followed shortly after, arching over him like a cresting wave, burying his face in the redhead's neck.

_Are you going with me?_

The question came back like a finger poking him sharply in the side and Mello raised himself up slightly when the redhead hissed in pain.

"Matt?"

Brown eyes, half hidden by auburn hair, moist and matted with perspiration, cracked open slightly. It was Mello's tone that surprised him, genuinely inquisitive and quiet, soft and searching.

Green eyes met his own and the hands on Matt's hips loosened, fingers slowly caressing the bruises beginning to flower along the pale skin.

"You still there?" he asked with a slight smile.

Matt was almost afraid. He couldn't recall the last time they had shared a tender moment.

But still, it had happened before. There had been some kind gestures, some compassionate words, an honest attempt at an elusive sense of affection. A goodbye kiss before particularly long trips, inexplicable hugs in the middle of the night, a glance that spoke more than words ever could...

Amidst Mello's contradictions and Matt's escapism, it was still able to bloom, just like the flower of a cactus, a vivid patch of color and life in a desert wasteland.

Was that what he wanted, miles and miles and miles of nothing but dust and emptiness for a few moments of color and beauty?

"I don't want you to disappear, Matty," Mello admitted quietly, cheeks tinged pink as one hand wandered to grasp the beads that weren't there.

It was childish, so selfish and needy and _stupid_.

But Matt smiled nonetheless, pulling Mello down to wrap his arms around him, because it was the child in Mello that he adored, that lone flower amidst the thorns of religion and danger and ambition.

"I already told you," he breathed against the blond's ear. "I'm fine with you, wherever you go."

Neither spoke for a long moment, laying in each other's arms in silence and Mello clung to Matt tightly, because it all didn't seem so stupid anymore.

It wasn't childish, it never had been. It was honest and loving and true.

It was proof that they existed.

Just like Matt's bruises, just like Mello's rosary, just like murmurs of "I love you" and whispered words of thanks.

The gamer awoke the next morning to find his goggles, lenses scratched and dusty, resting on the night stand.


	3. Yume

A/N: Hello all! Long time no see! It seems like it's been forever, and it kind of has. I have been working on TTB and KN, though both are at a bit of a standstill as I get deep into finals week. Christmas Break should bring plenty of updates from me.  
I'd like to start off with the customary thank you's, because you guys have been extra patient with me over the course of the past few months and I love love love you all for it. So, thank you to:

First and foremost, stuffed-fox  
mrsjeevas  
Saigocage  
M2 aka Sandaa aka pro-kira aka striped-tabby XD  
Trinny Dream  
Fanatic Fics  
Fullmetal-tora  
Demon Hiei's Girl  
Living in a fantasy

Thank you to all of you for being so supportive!  
Now, a little bit about this one-shot. It was written in a single sitting and is inspired by the song Then It Happened by Milosh. You can download it for free at Adultswim . com (get rid of the spaces, I dunno how linking works around here) from their Ghostly Swim album. Just go to music and it should be on the page. Seriously, it's a great song.  
Originally, I had a completely different one shot started out for this song, but I began listening to it again and (now that it's all wintery here instead of summery) it came out as something colder and darker than what I had written in the first draft (the first one took place in spring, before Mello had his face burned. This one is in the days and weeks after it).  
Yes, my Mello is kind of an uke in this, though I have nothing against him as a seme either. Personally, I think they like variety. However, my brain has two parts: one that is completely and utterly attatched to the writing of mrsjeevas and takes her interpretation as fact, and the other that shamelessly writes Mello as a tragic uke. Forgive me for my fickleness.  
I must admit that some of the inspiration for this came from Love Hina. The idea of ephemeral and dreams and how they are different (though they use the same kanji, I think) just kind of stuck with me and, as cheesy as it can get some times (what with some of the random outbursts of spontaneous song by various characters), I really appreciated what the show was trying to say. However, I'm still a huge fan of the manga. Whoo-hoo!  
Well, enough of all the babbling and rambling. Please enjoy this third installment of Intangible. And remember. **Read and review!** Ephemeral does not equal dreams, but reviews certainly equal love.

Note: The title should be the romaji for 'dream' in Japanese, since it's where I got the inspiration from. If anyone who has a knowledge of Japanese finds that this is incorrect, please inform me and I'll be more than happy to change it.

Disclaimer: I own neither Death Note nor the song. Please, do not sue. I mean you no harm.

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Chapter 3 - Yume

Mello crinkled his nose as the wind whipped the smell of antiseptic and burn ointment off of his skin and up his nostrils. The repugnant stench mixed cruelly with the smell of autumn leaves and freezing rain, cold against his thighs and his neck as it seeped into his skin. It battled, weaker and weaker as time went on, against the burning in his face from spreading to the rest of his body. It was a temporary relief.

Ephemeral. Short-lived. Foolish.

He shifted slightly, sliding up to rest more securely against the windshield of the car, staring down at his legs sprawled out in front of him. He idly tapped the toes of his boots together together, fingers twitching in his hair to keep his eyes from sliding shut.

He was so tired. So exhausted. But he couldn't sleep.

Sleep was terrifying, sleep was dangerous. Sleep ended in a nightmare brought on by a crumbling psyche, or rolling right onto his burns, or softly moaning Matt's name into the empty air.

Sleep brought on dreams.

Dreams had once been so welcome, for only the briefest periods of time. Somewhere between the first time he ever cried in front of Matt and the day Near showed up at Wammy's, he always seemed to have pleasant dreams.

Though he couldn't remember them now. They were just dreams after all.

Fleeting. Temporary. Just like parents. Just like friends.

They never stick around.

That was exactly why he couldn't bring himself to fall asleep, not in front of Matt, never in his arms. He couldn't handle it, the look in his brown eyes, the blush rising in his cheeks, that awful ambiguous look in his eyes when he realized that Mello had been dreaming about him for some time.

Mello made an irritated noise against the roof of his mouth, hands tightening in his hair and pulling lightly. He wanted to rip the image from his mind: Matt standing in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at him, his gaze darting away the moment their eyes met, quiet counted only in heartbeats. He would open his mouth, but no words would come out. And after a few seconds, it would close as his shoulders slowly sank in an unheard sigh.

'How can you be so cruel?' Mello had thought.

Life is harsh. Reality is harsh.

Dreams are even worse.

Mello couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't allow himself to. What could he possibly be allowed to dream of?

Of sin? Of pain? Of panic and failure and burning?

Of Matt?

He was his ticket straight to Hell. He would be the one to tip him over the edge. He was the snake in the Garden of Eden.

It was so cold out. He'd left his jacket back at the apartment. He sniffled and shivered once. It was refreshing against the left half of his face, but everywhere else it sent tremors straight to his very bones. He knew he should go home, he wanted to. Wanted to go home to Matt, who would hold him and put ointment on his face and make him dinner and smile like an idiot as he made lame jokes about Al Capone and Harvey Dent.

And he'd wear his goggles so Mello wouldn't have to see the broken look in his eyes.

The clouds were drifting by, dingy grey and depressing as Mello got back into the car. The weather report said it would be sunny for the rest of the week.

Here today, gone tomorrow.

And yet, Matt would still be there when he got home, if only because he had no vehicle to drive to the airport.

Maybe Matt wouldn't be gone in the morning.

These things were supposed to build, right? They didn't just happen all of a sudden.

He sneered coldly as he pulled away from the side of the road and made a U-turn back towards the apartment.

Experience had taught him that anything could simply disappear at any time.

He was an orphan after all. It wasn't as if he had seen his parents' abandonment coming.

Matt would leave him. Matt could barely make eye contact with him anymore. Yes, Mello could see it coming this time.

So of course, the only logical thing to do, he concluded as he ambled towards the door to his apartment, head bowed and shoulders tense, was to beat Matt to the punch.

"I don't need you," Mello murmured to himself. "I never needed you before."

He was just a bit of help in rough times. Transient assistance.

A bad influence.

Mello nearly chuckled at the thought. _Nearly_.

He opened the door and strode in without hesitation, until his bravado faltered unexpectedly just across the threshold.

Matt's things were sprawled across the floor, ashtrays filled with cigarette butts on nearly every surface, his scent permeating the air as if he had lived here his whole life. And then he came rushing out of the bedroom, pale as a ghost and looking as if he had just been crying.

"Mello!" he sighed breathlessly, cellphone clutched in a shaking hand. He seemed to notice the death grip he had on the device a moment later and slipped it back into his pocket. "I've been worried sick about you. What happened to your bandages? You shouldn't take them off like that, you'll get an infection." He blathered on, nervous and flustered, stepping towards him with open arms and a weak smile.

He was scared. Terrified. Like a deer in the headlights.

The moment the glimmer of life is recognizable in it's eyes, the damn thing is already dead.

The distance between them grew smaller and smaller until Mello had no choice but to press forward or turn and run.

"Jesus Christ, Mello," he heard Matt breathe, the smell of tobacco washing over him, only barely rustling in his hair. "You're really too impulsive sometimes."

It was warm, his breath. Not hot, not scalding.

Just warm.

And the animal inside of him snapped, desperate to take, take, _take_. But not just that. He wanted to keep. Keep it all for himself. No one else.

This was his. His alone.

He claimed it and he had no idea what the hell it was.

He sprang forward, faster than Matt could have ever anticipated from his stance. Admittedly, there had been no warning. No preparation.

It had simply..._happened_.

Mello's hands were around the younger teen's neck and he was shoving him against the wall, heart thundering in his chest and snarls erupting from his throat.

"I'll kill you," Mello whispered as Matt choked loudly and took a wheezing breath of hysteria. His eyes were huge behind his goggles, frightened and hurt and very, very alive. "I'll kill you, Mail."

Matt kicked and fought as much as he could, the balls of his feet the only thing touching the floor, hands grappling at the blond's fingers, trying to loosen the pressure they placed against his windpipe.

Mello felt something stumble in it's breakneck course through his brain as Matt's lips rounded, making a stuttering noise as he tried to speak.

"Why, you ask?" he said darkly. "You want to know why?"

But Matt was thrashing now, and he didn't even care about questions anymore.

And then, he could breathe again. Mello had let him go and he had fallen to the floor in a gasping heap. Color flooded back into his face with a little more red than normal as anger began to set in. "Mello!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "What the fuck-?!"

"Because I love you."

The redhead froze, his mind slowly trying to process what he had just heard.

And then the older boy had fallen to his knees, sniffling loudly with tears running down his cheeks and his legs and arms bent awkwardly as he tried to hide himself from Matt and the rest of the world.

"I could f-f-fucking kill-l you," he stuttered, voice breaking with restrained sobs, shielding his face with his forearms. "Bec-cause I love you so much, I could kill you. So...so don't go, Mail! Please!"

Matt frowned, reaching out to gently grasp his friend's wrist, but he found his hand slapped away.

"Don't look at me!" Mello shrieked, clumsily shuffling backwards.

The hand fell limply to the floor. "Mihael..."

"I'm hideous!" the blond continued on, voice high pitched and cracking. "I'm so filthy and disgusting and _ugly_!" He curled in on himself, throwing his arms over his head, tears falling hot and fast from his eyes. "I'll kill you if you leave," he whimpered. "I shouldn't want you, I can't want you, I'm not allowed to-"

He seized up in terror as Matt suddenly draped himself over him, cradling his head and murmuring against his hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, Mihael." Mello's real name slipped so elegantly from the redhead's lips, proof that he truly meant was he was promising. "I won't let you leave me again." A hand threaded into the yellow strands, drifting down until it was near his left ear. "_This_..." He stroked a thumb along the undamaged skin near the expansive burn, where he knew it didn't hurt to touch. "This will never happen to you again."

Heaving a strangled sob, Mello slowly sat up, clutching the front of Matt's shirt. He even allowed Matt to carry him to the couch, burying his face against the redhead's shoulder, alternating between snarled expletives and murmured words of love.

He was in pain, excruciating pain. The burn ointment needed to be applied, the bandages needed to be put on, the bruised heart needed to heal.

And when Matt came back with the first two in hand, Mello pulled him down for an ungainly kiss. Their teeth knocked together at first, neither of them sure what the other was doing. Then it was all softness and chastely, breaking with a muted breath and flushed cheeks.

Before Matt could even apply the first layer of ointment, Mello had already drifted off, his lips still tingling and heart still fluttering.

And he dreamt of Matt.

Signed, sealed, and straight to Hell.

The snake was beautiful.

But it was really worth it, when he took the time to think about it.

Matt would be there when he opened his eyes again, offering him soup and chocolate, brushing back his hair, looking at him from across the room.

And as autumn passed into winter, Mello ultimately committed himself to Hell and all that came with it.

It was on his birthday that they had bought up enough booze to drink themselves into a stupor. But they didn't even need to go that far.

They were laying on the bed before either had even comprehended it, Mello's lithe frame covered by Matt's body. Locked in a slow and heated kiss, hands gripping weakly at one another, moving languidly, as if the hands of time had suddenly decelerated.

Mello had always been guarded. The fact that he loved Matt and Matt loved him back hadn't changed that. The only times he muttered those three little words were when Matt's lip latched onto the curve in his neck and suckled lightly at the edge of his scar.

He never intended to utter them. They just came pouring out, spirit swelling with pride and adoration.

It was the little gasps that gave the blond away as Matt shifted above, him pulling away for a moment to rise up on his elbows. Mello could see the red in his cheeks as the city lights poured in through the small window across the room.

Mello felt short of breath. His friend's body was hot and heavy atop him, but soft and inviting, drawing him in. The look in Matt's eyes was more intoxicating than the booze, goggles hanging loosely around the gamer's neck.

He never wanted to leave this place. He suddenly wanted to stay here, beneath Matt and enveloped in warmth for the rest of his life.

"D-don't get any ideas," he stuttered, voice quiet as if any loud noises would fracture the air of tenderness surrounding them. "This has nothing to do with any of that true love shit."

"I know," Matt replied before closing the space between them and capturing the blond's mouth in a passionate kiss. "But I still do love you," he muttered hurriedly, lips pressed tightly back against the blond's before he even had a chance to reply.

It was the first time they made love, every movement gentle and kind and tender. And Mello was the first one to find his defenses demolished, crying out Matt's name as he neared his end, clutching at him and breathily professing his love into the other's ear.

Matt's walls had fallen long before that, but the only sign was the way he held Mello in his arms, as if he were made of glass, capable of shattering at any moment. The way he whispered to him for long minutes afterwards as the lay, sweaty and sated amidst the sheets. "It's alright, Mello. I'm here, I love you." As if he were a child, as if he were a frightened little boy.

"Mail..." the blond groaned almost inaudibly, arms sliding down his lover's back to pull him in closer, sighing with a delicate joy, as if it had all been a happy accident.

The first and last times they ever made love went along the same way. The times in between were always different, new tricks, new positions, new challenges to up the ante. And Matt had to admit that Mello was probably better at being in the dominant position that he was, with a mind as clever and quick and devious as it was, able to switch tactics without a moment's notice, never letting on where he might be heading next.

But the last time they made love, it was Mello who needed the consoling.

"Don't go," he had vaguely pleaded in the midst of it all. "Please, don't go."

And there was nothing that could be done. Matt's promises suddenly fell on deaf ears and, on the inside, Mello finally shattered.

He rushed towards death, away from Matt, wondering if all of it was simply a dream, hoping he might awaken beside the lovely redhead again when he opened his eyes once more.

Because no one had told him that life was more fleeting than love.


	4. Hand in Unloveable Hand

A/N: So, this A/N is written slightly more formally, because I feel a formal apology is in order.  
I apologize whole-heartedly for being so absent as of late. I haven't really been doing much online lately at all. I wanna thank everyone who wished me a happy new year and I wish you all the same. I love you guys for your good wishes, even when I'm a horribly irresponsible person who always seems to flake out. XD  
I want to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Thank you to: Fullmetal-tora, Melissa aka Demon Hiei's Girl, Living in a fantasy, Striped-Tabby aka Sandaa aka prokira aka M2, MRS-Jeevas, and stuffedfox. I am so eternally grateful to all of you for sticking by me even when I'm always running out and ripping my hair out over the stupidest things (even though you probably don't know I do that). I really do appreciate you all.  
Yes, a rather shorter one-shot from me this time. This one is inspired by the song No Children by The Mountain Goats. I first heard it when watching the New Year's Moral Orel marathon and was just struck by the lyrics. You should definitely download it if you get a chance, as its rather good. I suppose this is my payback for that fluffy bit I wrote for Mello's b-day. I've always been a sucker for the whole "true love" thing with MxM, so I wanted to do something bleaker and more pessimistic.  
So, best wishes to everyone and start your year off right with this little piece of desolate contemplation. lol Happy new year!

May your year be filled with lots of love and happy reading,  
Catmoongirl

PS - Before all the teachers and English majors etc. jump down my throat again, "unloveable" is a non-standard alternative spelling of "unlovable". It's spelled that way for a reason.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't even have a job. Death Note belongs to Ohba and Obata.

* * *

Chapter 4 - Hand in Unloveable Hand

Matt had an idea why Mello was so fixated by one of Linda's steel sculptures in her gallery.

Mello was twisted, just like the steel, jutting out in morbid and awkward angles, yet flowing together perfectly and seamlessly, potent and graceful.

He enjoyed the concerned looks, the uncomfortable tension, the chill that seeped in when the two of them had entered, neither touching nor looking at one another. Matt with dark circles under his eyes, Mello with a famished and sickly look to him.

And Matt could see the resemblance in Mello's wry grin when, to Linda's worried words (which began as "Belinda and Niko went to a couples therapy, you know" to something along the lines of "You two seemed quite happy, but to be honest, I never thought you two were really very compatible") the redhead responded with a noncommittal shrug.

In an other scenario, one that wasn't so bleak and suffocating, Mello would have even giggled as Linda simply trailed after him as Matt sauntered back to his "lover's" side to stare aimlessly at the rather ugly sculpture before them.

Because Linda was the only one who still tried, the only so-called friend who remained in a sea of nameless idiots.

And neither had any desire to let her be a constant reminder of how far they had fallen from the ideal.

"The two of you used to be so close-" she pressed, leaning in to whisper to them as the other members of their class gave them cold looks, muttering darkly to one another.

"What do you think about this one?" Matt asked the leather-clad blond beside him.

"Seems like it represents the distress of a barren and bossy woman. Rather pretentious, really."

"Or maybe the inevitability loveless and lonely existence."

And yes, that was the last straw for poor Linda, who almost couldn't hold back her tears as she stormed away from them, only barely resisting the urge to shriek an expletive-filled vow of how she would never speak to them again.

So they left and drove back home, a long drive into a cold night, with Matt breaking his promise to not smoke in the car and Mello breaking his about not "always brooding and bitching all the damn time".

The ashes flicked out the window, Mello curled up against the door, head resting on the window.

The car's headlights illuminated a sign on the side of the highway that read:

_Last exit on life_.

But it was really just a rest stop. And Mello nearly began to cry because it felt like pleasant nostalgia. It brought back memories of a dingy bathroom with leaky taps and disgusting urinals and broken porcelain, and the sounds of grunting and groaning and thumping, of leather boots kicking at the tile floor, of the clinking of loose belt buckles, of fabric being fisted and wrinkled and ripped, of eyes fluttering shut and lips pressing together and beads of sweat slipping across flushed skin.

They could have pulled over, stopped for a bit, split the bill and called it even. Or maybe it would have been more explosive, with Matt regretting that he ever kissed him, or that he ever fell in love with that hideous scar, with Mello finally admitting just how dumb he thought the gamer was, how his only worth in life had been as a diversion, how he wished he could burn their shit-hole of an apartment in LA down because it was the first place they had made love.

_I hope you die._

So they didn't pull over, because it was much easier to just keep believing that this was what life was like for people who lived beyond the age of 20.

Both of them could barely place where the day ended and began. It was perpetually dark. Days that failed to change from one to another simply ran together until Matt didn't even sleep anymore because he still felt fucking cold under layers and layers of blankets.

_It's always darkest before the dawn._

Marching towards death had once been the darkest day of their lives. And yet here they were, alive and somewhat well, and it was growing darker still.

The idea of cutting himself shaving and bleeding to death didn't seem so bad right now, perhaps because he was too cowardly to just put that blade to his wrist and do it quickly. Or perhaps because life lived in slow misery should simply end the same way too.

_I hope we both die. _

Yes, Matt wished they would both just drop dead, because he knew one would suffer without the other. A month ago, he would have entertained the notion of going to some sort of therapy.

Now, he couldn't quell the urge to put a bullet through Mello's skull.

But his eyes were just too damn blue.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

He was stuck in an endless loop of only slightly comforting familiarity, the reluctant touch of a relationship that had crumbled weakly under a flimsy foundation of the thought that they wouldn't make it to see another sunrise.

Half-drunk every day or simply too insane to even focus and Matt hoped he'd never get sober. It seemed like a never-ending staring contest, across the living room, waiting for one of them to blink. Someone had to say "when", someone had to put them out of their misery...

Someone had to be their salvation.

Matt knew all too well that there would be no salvaging.

So he blinked, he gave.

He just got up one day, stood up and walked straight through the front door. He didn't need any of his things, Mello could burn them all. He wanted a new life, to drive far far away.

He wanted to wear those stupid vintage band tees like all the rest of the jobless fuckers out there, wanted to just sit around and get high like a normal person, wanted to make friends who just came over because he always had plenty of booze and Mello couldn't have one good thing to say about him because he was a lazy son of a bitch.

Then maybe he'd meet a pretty girl who would help turn him around, and he'd get some dead end job at a grocery store or a fast food joint and he would slave away for weeks on end at minimum wage just so he could buy her a damn diamond ring and propose to her. And they'd get married and have lots of kids and send them all to school and cry at their graduation and when they ended up just like their father-

"Wait, Matt, please!"

-but Mello didn't have enough sense to stay the hell out of his way.

"Matt, please, don't do this," he pleaded, stepping in front of the redhead, hands firm on his shoulders. "We...we can talk about this." And Matt's brown eyes refused to meet his, refused to even consider buying the lie that was in them. "Please, Matt...Mail, don't go."

Matt was falling to pieces on the inside and Mello was in shambles. Matt had a future, had unlimited potential that he had never tapped into, that he may never have a chance to recognize. Mello had run dry, stuck just beneath first with a limited set of useful skills.

Kira was gone, but the choke-hold he had on their lives was not. They had fallen into stagnation, nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to be. And the love the had once had fell to pieces as their existence and identities did the same.

And Mello was supposed to be the stronger one, but here he was, crying to keep Matt with him.

"I'm drowning, Mail!" he shrieked. "I can't do this without you!" So he thought he'd drag Matt down with him, and when he threw himself forward to press a desperate kiss, cold and prickly and unfamiliar, onto the redhead's lips, the weights were already around their ankles, hands clutched lovelessly together because there was nothing else to hold on to.

Dragging him to the bedroom, stripping off clothes in some sort of faux frenzy that was more about emotional scarring than actual love-making, Matt figured that, since it was something that had once been based on something beautiful and loving, he could just keep lying to himself that it really wasn't so bad.


End file.
